I Want To Laugh
by Yochan
Summary: *SPOILERS FOR OoTP* Snape/Lupin. Snape gets what he wants. At who's cost?


I'm broken. I'm broken. I'm broken, lungs pattering, heart thudding like drops of water striking mud. An ugly, thudding feeling inside me. My face is sticky, tears and snot and saliva in a mess on his robes, at his lap. And he smells so strange, like old steam and candle wax.   
  
He makes sounds, low sounds, and after a while, when I'm not crying out any more, and the thudding is louder than the gasping and my body jerks with twig-snap breaths, the sounds change. His hands are moving. Long, long hands, not petting and holding stiffly, but moving. Feeling.  
  
"Se..Severus."  
  
How can he hear me when my voice won't work. How can he stop when I'm pushing into his hands and not away. He lays me back in the bed, and I'm crying still. Open me up. I can't breathe.  
  
"Hush, Lupin, you're hysterical."  
  
Except I'm not. Now. And he doesn't sound like he cares because his voice is eager, hungry and soft all at once like he's speaking to a lover or a doll, and his hands are pushing my clothes all apart, peeling robes away, and I'm shivering.  
  
"Severus!"  
  
More insistent. I'm more insistent. And he can't hear me still, because my voice isn't enough. I think I broke it. I think I'm broken.  
  
There's a blow at my chest again, though he hasn't touched me. It's back. Another flood, ice pain empty no—  
  
"He's gone," I croak, misery choking me once more.  
  
That catches his attention, and his cold hot eyes are on mine, and he doesn't say anything. He doesn't say anything and I'm crying again, I can feel it, though my body doesn't move this time. My eyes just leak hot, trickling down the sides of my face. Oh god oh god I'm alone.  
  
"Hush, Lupin," he says, and then a moment later, "Just cry."  
  
This makes me want to stop, and laugh. What a contradiction. Severus Snape.  
  
And he's pushing my legs apart, and though my pants are still on I feel his body come down on me and I know why and what.   
  
"Cry."  
  
His voice at my ear, my heart beating and the wolf answers, but the growl is all wrong, just a whine. Empty. Hungry. His lips touch the side of my face, and I jerk as something cooler than my tears and warmer than flesh licks at the corner of my eye. He's tasting me. His tongue is on me, dragging slowly through the tears.  
  
And he groans.  
  
And my body is confused, and I'm hard and full and hot, and my back goes all tight, and my thighs push all apart like I want him to cleave me in two.  
  
His calm breathing is faster than calm, louder than calm, but he says it again, "Cry."  
  
I am, I want to scream. I am, can't you taste it? I'm hiccupping with it, choking on it, drowning in it. And he's touching me, drawing my shirt over my head until I'm shivering harder, curling at him, hiding under him god damn you Severus damn you.  
  
Long hands, touching my chest, rubbing at me like he's trying to knead me away into nothing. He's never seen me naked before. It doesn't seem like he's looking. He's bonier than Sirius. His hips are pointy and they stab at my body. His hands are longer. The sounds he makes are obscene now, filling my ears like thick mud like the mud in my chest until I'm covered in mud, just a thudding rhythm, and a slower, dragging rhythm, his body squirming all onto him, heavier than me, lighter than Black.   
  
I can't cry now, it isn't working. My fingers curl like claws, and I claw into his robes, because he's nearly lifting me up. I'm flying a moment, disoriented, clinging.  
  
"Too thin," I hear him mutter, while he peels and peels and fights my body one-handed until the last pant cuff slips off my ankle and I am naked.  
  
He hesitates, and starts to blanket me, folding his pointy body up with me in the old knit throw. He's warm. He's touching me again, feeling between my legs, pulling at my cock and it feels like a curious healer's touch, like he just wants to know what it does, if he can feel the wolf there.  
  
"Sa…same as a man," I hear myself snarl these words, hiccupping, bitter, hate in my voice that doesn't become me. I don't hate him. I don't. I don't. I hate.  
  
He doesn't answer me. The seeking fingers reach farther and he does something that makes me cry out, and I bite him, not hard, because I've cried my strength away. He laughs so softly. He laughs breath along my face, and when he curls his fingers and pulls with more purpose, I cry out again, and now he can't stop.   
  
This is new, the anger and heat. The anger. It fights in me, because the misery wants to win, wants to fill me with mud until I sink into the ground because Sirius is gone. Nothing fights the heat, and I let the ugly sludge guide me, limbs splayed, gaze blurry and hateful and agonized and wanton all the same. I'm broken, Severus is a fool, he can take what he wants. Do what you want. I want to laugh in his face but I can't risk a sound now.   
  
He steadies me with long fingers all around my throat, and the wolf wants to laugh again. Still scared Severus? Are you afraid of me? And I want to laugh because there's nothing left, he's fucking nothing, my heart has drowned and I am broken.  
  
So he fucks me, and my dead body stops crying, and my body opens up for him. He shakes then, too. He holds me close and shakes, and finishes quickly, bony Severus just heavy enough to keep me breathless. I imagine that he's piercing my insides, that I'm warm because I'm bleeding and that I'll die, here clutched up in long fingers with Severus Snape's cock twitching inside of me.  
  
He pushes up enough to reach between us, and finishes me too, eyes on the task, eyes sharp with concentration, as if he's measuring out a potion and not jerking me off, as if his robes aren't stuck to my body, as if his hair isn't stuck to his pale, shining forehead, as if he thinks I care.  
  
"You're calmer." This voice seeps through the mud and I hear him. He's laying over me, pushed up on arms that might be thick under all those robes. I can't tell.  
  
"Is that more convenient? You must be relieved." A softer, dead sound. What I mean to say is that I hate him.  
  
He watches me with some sort of consideration, and I want to break his head open to find out what he thinks. I want to pour out all his gruesome thoughts, I want him to tell me how much he hates me, hated him. But I want to sleep more than that. Someone has told him, I realize. Someone has told him I haven't been sleeping. That must be it.   
  
"You could have used a draught," I add, grasping for a smug, calm tone. He's still inside me, sliding out slowly as his body shrinks.   
  
He pretends not to understand, eyes narrowing. When he pulls away, I'm cold, and too tired to shiver. Too tired to cry. Too tired to hate Severus. Too tired to drown. He tucks me into Sirius's bed, and strokes my hair like I'm a child. I don't think he leaves. 


End file.
